


Ace Observation

by mirkandmidnight



Series: author's favorites [7]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hospitals, Las Vegas Aces, Plot Twists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-21 03:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11348727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirkandmidnight/pseuds/mirkandmidnight
Summary: Alternatively Titled: Tyler Frye Gets His Groove On





	Ace Observation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ronanlynchisneversleepingagain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronanlynchisneversleepingagain/gifts).



"Alright," Goldie says, surveying the table and leaning forward with an oddly intense look in his eyes. "Mission 'Get Parser a Girlfriend'. Ideas?"

Swoops raises his hand, looking as if he'd rather be learning geometry. Or Geology. One of the two. "What the fuck, dude," he says. "You said this was a strategy meeting."

Tyler slumps down further in his seat and tries to make himself as small as possible.

Fact One: It's his rookie year in the NHL, and by some miracle, he manages to get drafted to Vegas. He's pretty fucking pumped. Who wouldn't jump at the chance to play for a Stanley-winning team? And maybe he's being unfair. Maybe he's got unreasonable expectations for the kind of shit 20-something professional athletes with cash to burn do in Las Vegas. 

Back in Juniors, there was no skulking around and plotting and interfering in their captain's love life. They drank shitty beer and repressed their feelings. Mom Olive is a psychotherapist. She has a lot of feelings about toxic masculinity in professional sports. 

Fact Two: Tyler has no idea why they're spending so much time skulking around and plotting and interfering in their captain's love life. Because Fact Three: the captain is fucking scary, man. Tyler has seen some shit. Parser is hell on skates, faster than should be possible, and he works harder than God. It's been three weeks of practice, and Tyler hurts in places he didn't think were possible. His bruises have bruises.

And sure, Parser is a friendly enough guy off the ice, but he's still got a hell of a reputation. Anybody who knows anything about hockey knows something about the Parson-Zimmermann draft, but nobody knows Parser's side of the story, and Tyler does not want to get in that business. He doesn't even know if Parser would tell it straight if someone asked him. Parser never lies, but he doesn't tell the whole truth either.

Tyler has enough to worry about with players from other teams. He doesn't need his captain to have it out for him.

"I don't like your tone," Goldie says, faux-angry. "There's a lot of strategy in setting up Kent 'The Pickiest Man Alive' Parson with a chick."

Swoops stands. "Yeah, whatever. I'm out. This is a bad idea." As he heads for the door, he pulls out his phone and smirks down at the screen. Tyler can't help but think that he's got the right idea. But before he can make a move to flee, Goldie slams his palm on the tabletop.

"Anyone else got a problem?" Unsurprisingly, no one moves. Goldie has a pretty intense face, and fucking gigantic biceps to back it up. And you know, Tyler's the rookie. He doesn't want to be the killjoy too.

One of the older guys-Tyler is still unclear on his name-sighs. "So, what's the plan?"

The plan is, objectively, the worst fucking idea Tyler's ever heard. Basically Goldie wants to set up Parser with their PR lady. Her name is Carla. She's very nice, he's sure, but his opinion of her is a little biased based on the fact that the first time he met her, she was in the middle of reaming out their goalie for posting inappropriate things on Twitter.

Carla's a little scary.

But that isn't the worst part. Tyler has no problem with Carla the scary PR lady finding love. It's just that the plan depends on Carla and Parser having a life outside of work. Which, as far as anyone can tell, neither of them does. Carla might actually live in her office, and Parser is like a goddamn cryptid. You only ever see him in the rink. As far as Tyler knows, management might keep him in storage when they're not at practice.

Tyler raises his hand, and for a second Goldie looks at him like he's a total stranger, like he can't conceive of how Tyler got in here. Then his face clears with recognition. "What's up, rookie?" Tyler doesn't have a nickname yet. He's not bitter. 

He looks around at the other guys. "I just-this doesn't seem like a very good plan?"

Goldie's eyebrows draw together, his expression thunderous. "You got a better one, squirt?"

He opens his mouth for a second before any words come out. "No."

"Then shut up." At least it's dismissive instead of outright angry.

But that could have definitely gone better. He's not even mad that Goldie snapped at him. He's still got a lot of proving himself to do before the others see him as an equal. Right now, Tyler's just some mouthy kid. He doesn't even have a nickname, for chrissakes.

When the meeting is adjourned, Tyler is the first one out the door. The rest of the team is still congregated in little groups around the snack tray someone thought to bring. As he opens the door, there's a muffled curse on the other side and Swoops falls forward into the room, hands thrown forward to catch himself. He collides heavily with Tyler, who just barely manages to lift his arms in time to catch Swoops.

Swoops balances himself and dusts his clothes off. He looks around, the very picture of nonchalance. "Thanks," he says, then turns to go.

"What-" Tyler sputters and grabs his shoulder. "Were you eavesdropping?"

He looks up at the ceiling, then back down. "Yep," he says, popping the consonant. Then he pulls his shoulder free of Tyler's grip and walks away. Tyler watches him go, broad shoulders hunched over as he taps away on his phone.

Hockey players. He's never going to understand them.

Goldie's plan, he hears later, goes down like a lead balloon. He tries to get Carla and Parser in the same room for weeks, only for them to end up in an argument over Game of fucking Thrones. It's pretty unsalvageable. Tyler would be lying if he said he weren't a little gleeful. He knew it was an awful plan from the start.

The other thing that's got him feeling like a million bucks is that, in the first game of his NHL career, he gets a sweet goal in the second period and nearly gets the life squeezed out of him in the celly that follows. Gloves knock against his helmet and Goldie's actually lifting him in the air like some hyper masculine version of the Lion King. Tyler just tilts his head back and laughs, and laughs.

The next day after practice, like five different guys slap him on the back, and Goldie seems to have decided Tyler is his hockey son or something. It's a good feeling. Tyler ducks his head and tries not to grin like an idiot. He's finally starting to feel like a part of the team. That said, it's really fucking jarring when Parser corners him on the way out of the locker room. He brushes back his blond hair with one hand and shoves the other in his pocket. At first, Tyler doesn't think Parser is actually approaching him. 

"Yo. Rookie." Yup. Okay. Parser's approaching him. Tyler looks around, but there's no way to escape. He sets his shoulders and tries to keep his hands from shaking. 

"Yeah?" Fortunately, Parser doesn't seem to notice that he's about five seconds from a nervous breakdown. Small miracles.

"Yeah, nice goal," Parser says. Tyler just stares at him. Kent Parson saw his goal. Thought it was good, good enough to comment on. Somewhere, fifteen year old Tyler Frye is literally crying with joy. But now Tyler has to work with Parser. He can't fanboy. He cannot fanboy. He needs to pull it together, and fast.

"Thanks-" is all he gets out before Goldie appears out of fucking nowhere and clamps a hand down on Parser's shoulder. Parser winces and turns to face him, a smile on his face that looks more like a cry for help. Presumably Goldie hasn't given up on the whole dating thing.

"So, Cap, whatcha up to this Friday night?" Yup, Goldie has not given up on this dating thing. "Got a friend who knows a girl. And don't tell me you're going clubbing with Swoops again. Don't you guys see enough of each other at practice?"

"Uh..." Parser looks around and his eyes light on Tyler. "Actually, me and some guys were going to take the rookie out, show him the sights. You know."

Goldie looks at Tyler too. What. Tyler glances at Parser, who widens his eyes and mouths something like 'please'. Tyler turns back to Goldie, mind suddenly made up. "Yeah," he says. "Just asked me."

So now he's going clubbing. Wonderful.

Tyler shows up at Parser's place on Friday night dressed in his nice clothes and hopes that it's good enough. He knocks on the apartment door, and Swoops flings it open a second later, looking pissed as hell. He looks at Tyler and sighs.

"Fucking Goldammer," he mutters, and walks back down the hall, yelling for Kent. "Kid's here, and I'm gonna get milk." Tyler follows him, shoulders hunched and hands shoved into his pockets. 

"Why are you getting milk?" he asks, for lack of anything better to say.

Swoops raises his eyebrows. "Because someone drank it and put the empty carton back in the fridge." He jangles a set of keys and heads out, the door clicking shut behind him. So now Tyler's standing all by himself in the kitchen. He looks around. No one's coming. So he heads over to the refrigerator and looks at the truly impressive collection of magnets. In one corner there's a piece of printer paper with a recipe for tofu protein shakes. Stuck to it is a series of post-it notes. The first is in Parser's messy scrawl, reading "Tofu is the fucking worst thing," then under that is Swoops's handwriting reading only "Fuck off". The final one is in Parser's handwriting again. There's a smiley face, and the words "You wish" written underneath.

Tyler frowns and runs his finger along the edge of the post-it. Why do these guys still live together? He's got a roommate, but he's a rookie. Then again, Parser and Swoops have been with the Aces since their draft. Makes sense that they'd be close. And Vegas is expensive, even on a professional athlete's salary. 

"What are you doing?" The sound of Parser's voice in his ear makes him jump about six inches into the air. He turns, and Parser's right behind him, hands on his hips and an unimpressed quirk to his eyebrows. He's dressed in dark, tight jeans, a gray button down, and honest-to-god combat boots. After a moment, Parser sighs. "I-you know what? I don't want to know." He starts towards the door, and Tyler follows.

"Why are you doing this?" Tyler asks when they're in Parser's car. He's sitting in the passenger seat, long legs crunched up and watching the strip go flying by. They've been sitting in silence for the last twenty minutes. It's awkward as hell, and Tyler has no idea why he's even here anyway. Clubbing? In Vegas? With his captain? What was he thinking?

Parser sighs in the driver's seat. "I dunno, man. Seemed like a good idea at the time, and I didn't wanna deal with another Goldie-date-from-hell." He pauses, then seems to realize what he's said. "And like also, someone needed to get you out of your room. It's been like, a fucking month. Have you been outside?"

Tyler winces. He has, but definitely not as much as he'd like. He's been a little busy settling in and finding things and trying to get to practice on time.

Parser nods. "That's what I thought."

***

The inside of the club is too hot and too crowded, with blue light flashing on the walls and the music playing at an earsplitting volume, the bass line thudding in his chest as he follows Parser towards the bar. He gets jostled and elbowed at least three times, but the crowd seems to part in front of Parser. It's got to be in the demeanor, Tyler thinks. Parser walks like he expects the world to get out of his way. 

He hops onto a stool at the bar and raises a finger to catch the bartender's attention, then turns back to Tyler. "Want something?"

Tyler shakes his head, and Parser shrugs. "Cool. I'll be here. Text if you need anything, kay?" He orders a drink, some fruity sounding cocktail, and looks surprised when he turns around and Tyler's still there. "What's up?"

"You're not coming with?" He's suddenly aware of how childish he sounds. He's eighteen, for fuck's sake. This isn't the first time he's been clubbing. Maybe the first time on his own, but hey, he's an adult now, he has to get with the program. 

Parser looks down at his phone, smirks, and taps out a reply to someone. "Maybe in a bit." It's a pretty clear dismissal, so Tyler slinks away to find a convenient corner to hide in. He has no idea why he's even here. He's a terrible dancer and even worse at talking to people. It's a wonder the bouncers even let him in. He doesn't doubt that if he'd been on his own, there's no way he'd have gotten in. Tyler knows full well that he looks every inch the gawky teenager when he's not on the ice. So he stands next to the wall and watches the people grind to the pulsing rhythm of the music and wishes he was at home.

He's not really sure how much time passes while he's watching the dance floor, but at some point he looks up and realizes Parser's not sitting at the bar anymore. He hisses a curse and reaches to check his phone. He wouldn't just leave Tyler here, would he?

"What's up?" Suddenly he's standing next to Tyler, his glass gone. Parser eyes him. "Have you just been-" He sighs. "Okay. This is sad. We're dancing now."

"What-" is all he can get out before Parser's dragging him out onto the dance floor. Tyler lets it happen with a kind of detached horror, lets himself be pulled to an open spot near the edge. Closer to the stage, the music is deafeningly loud. "I'm a bad dancer," he shouts.

Parser laughs, the sound mixing with the wail of electric guitar. Flashing blue lights play across his face, head tilted back and a wild, laughing grin on his face. "No one's a bad dancer, Frye. You either commit to it or you don't. Only bad dancer's someone who thinks they look stupid." He sways to the beat, looking totally serene. Tyler envies his composure, his easy grace. Parser, he's decided, is the kind of guy who looks cool covered in mud. It's something in his bearing, something in the way he moves.

Suddenly, Parser's face lights up and he's moving past Tyler to where Swoops is making his way towards them. The line of his shoulders is loose and relaxed in a way Tyler hasn't seen in practice. Parser is the captain, but Swoops is the guy who makes sure the rest of them are working just as hard. 

"Didn't think you were gonna make it," Parser says. "You didn't pay, did you?"

Swoops shrugs. "Bouncer owes me a favor."

"Why?" The question is out of Tyler's mouth before he can stop it. He can't help himself, okay, he's a curious guy and besides, what's the absolute worst that can happen?

Swoops exchanges an unreadable glance with Parser, probably something along the lines of "why the fuck is this guy still here", then turns to Tyler. "Because I did him a favor." Parser sighs and whacks him in the side, and Swoops jumps. "Fine. I taught him how to play broom hockey."

Parser snorts. "That's fucking hilarious. How many bouncers do you know, dude?"

"Too many." He looks up at the ceiling. "Anyway, did you guys forget we have practice tomorrow morning?" 

"Fuck," Parser says. "Shit. Yeah." He sighs. "Well, this has been fun, but we should probably get some sleep or we're fucking dead tomorrow, yeah?"

***

For some reason, Swoops didn't drive to the club ("What the fuck, Jeffrey, you took a bus at one in the morning? You know there are muggers, right?" "Yeah, but here's the thing, I'm bigger than them.") so he's sitting the backseat of Parser's car, knees pulled up practically to his chest. As they drive back, he and Parser talk while Tyler leans his head against the window and watches the lights of the city.

They drop him off back at his car, and as they're walking back up the sidewalk Tyler sees Parser bump Swoops's shoulder and grin. Swoops raises his eyebrows and does the same, but Parser goes flying into the bushes. Through the window of his car, Tyler can hear them both laughing.

***

The next week, they're playing Wisconsin when the word comes down: Jack Zimmermann's signed with Providence. The whole team is sitting in some dive in Lodi - which, Tyler doesn't even want to know how Parser finds these places. He's from Vegas, okay, why does he know bars in the Midwest?

Anyway. They're all sitting at the bar when Parser's phone chirps. He picks it up and glances at the screen, and his face suddenly falls. He tosses the phone back down on the bar and stands up. "I need some air," he announces, and stalks in the direction of the door. 

Goldie picks up the phone before anyone can stop him. "Huh. Zimmermann went to the Falconers." He glances at the door. "Weren't we just -" Goldie stops, and sets the phone back down. "None of my fucking business," he mutters.

Tyler finishes the sentence in his head. They were just in Providence. And Parser had seemed weirdly on edge the entire time, then vanished after the game and gotten back to the hotel really fucking late. Swoops had all but dragged him back to their shared room, glaring daggers at everyone in his path. 

How far is Providence from Zimmermann's school?

Swoops snatches up the phone and stands. "Be right back," he says, then heads in the same direction as Parser. Goldie watches his retreating back until he's out the door. 

"Wouldn't want to be in the middle of that conversation," he says, scratching at his beard. Goldie looks into the bottom of his glass. 

Tyler's never been able to resist asking the obvious question. "Why not?"

Goldie looks up at him. "Those guys are fucking intense, dude, have you not been paying attention?" He finishes his drink and stretches. "Just hope it doesn't affect the game tomorrow." Tyler glances through the front window, where he can just make out the shapes of Parser and Swoops, clearly arguing about something.

He's not so sure about this.

***

Tyler finds out he's on the starting lineup when Goldie sneaks up behind him and whoops in his ear in the locker room. He jumps about six inches into the air, then turns, scowling. "What the fuck, Goldie?"

"Starting lineup!" A massive grin splits Goldie's face ear to ear. "Way to fucking go, French Fry."

Tyler just stares at him for a second, unable to process what he's just heard. "Starting lineup?" That's huge, for a rookie just out of the draft, unsure if he's going to get sent down to a feeder team. 

Goldie nods. "Starting lineup." Then they're hugging and laughing and Tyler feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Suddenly, he's young and carefree and everything is going to be okay. When Swoops walks by, he laughs and ruffles Tyler's hair.

"Playing in the big leagues now, kiddo."

Playing starting lineup means he's playing right wing. Playing starting lineup means he's playing with Swoops and Parser.

Oh, fuck.

It's fine, it's fine, it's just that they have insane on ice chemistry. They're practically telepathic. He's just going to look like a fucking moron. Tyler's never actually gotten to play on a line with them, on account of he's a rookie, and management does not generally let rookies get a lot of ice time with the guys making more in three months than his parents do all year. 

He's so screwed.

***

It actually goes surprisingly well. He's barely keeping up with them until he realizes that if he just concentrates on getting the puck when it's near him, there's a lot less stress on his end. Tyler actually manages to get an assist in the first period. So that's nice. He's probably not going to get fired yet.

Yet. 

In the locker room between periods, they talk strategy. There's a d-man from Wisconsin who's clearly got it out for them. He's done a couple rough checks so far, but nothing they can't handle. The refs seem to have an eye on him. Privately, Tyler thinks it might not be enough. The dude is out for blood, for whatever reason. Maybe his parents didn't hold him enough as a child. Maybe he's living a lie. Maybe he's just got a fuckton of aggression issues.

Anyway. He doesn't see it becoming a problem for him. He's small enough and fast enough and unimportant enough that he'll probably be fine. Swoops, on the other hand, has gotten two goals so far, and throws gloves down often enough that it's a part of his style as a player. If someone's looking for a fight, they're probably going to pick it with him.

On the way back to the rink, Tyler hangs back to catch Parser alone. "Hey. Can I talk to you?"

Parser raises his eyebrows. "What's up?"

Tyler glances around, just in case someone's still around. Swoops probably wouldn't appreciate Tyler implying he can't handle himself, but the d-man from Wisconsin is built like a fucking truck on steroids. His muscles have muscles. "I think that d-man is going to go after Swoops."

Parser purses his lips. "I'll keep an eye on it." He claps Tyler's shoulder. "Hey. Keep up the good work, yeah?"

Second period is going pretty okay. Parser must have told Swoops to watch his back, because Swoops stays clear of the d-man and doesn't pick a fight with anybody. Wisconsin racks up a few points as well, so the Aces go into the third period one point ahead. It's not a good feeling. Another point will tie the game up, and that's not something he wants to deal with. At least they've got the other problem under control. As long as Swoops steers clear of that d-man, they'll probably make it through third period intact.

Third period is when things start to get ugly. Both teams are desperate to keep from going into overtime, and it shows. Wisconsin gets a penalty, and then a few minutes later, so do they. Then, with a minute left in the period, Wisconsin gets another goal. 

Shit.

Swoops wins the faceoff (because of course he does, when doesn't he?) and hooks the puck back to Parser, who takes off like a shot towards Wisconsin's goal. But he gets cornered by Wisconsin's other d-man (who seems perfectly decent, by the way, what the fuck is with that) and passes back to Swoops. 

Tyler sees it happen as if in slow motion. The d-man is coming up behind Swoops, too quickly to stop in time. He's going to hit Swoops from behind. That's so incredibly illegal. Tyler's frozen to the spot.

But Parser isn't. He appears out of nowhere, charging the d-man and colliding with him. They go down in a heap of limbs. At the same moment, Swoops shoots the puck straight into the goalie and throws his arms into the air. The sound of the buzzer going off mingles with the screaming of the ref's whistle. They've won.

There's blood on the ice. 

The d-man skates away, but Parser isn't getting up, is just laying on the ice, arms curled to protect his head. His helmet is lying several feet away, and even from this distance, Tyler can see the redness in his hair. Swoops turns, and Tyler can tell with terrible certainty the moment he sees. His face just falls, and then he's skating towards the refs, who are trying with an increasing amount of desperation to get some kind of response out of Parser.

Tyler finds his feet. He intercepts Swoops, pulling him back by his arm, but it's like two unstoppable forces colliding. 

"Tyler." Jeff's voice is firm, but there's an undercurrent of panic. "Let go."

"I know you know you can't go over there --" He leans backward in an attempt to break Swoops's momentum.

"Let go --"

"I can't do that --"

Swoops tries again to pry Tyler's arm off, but it's not working. "Listen to me --"

Tyler snaps. "No, you listen to me!" In any other circumstance, the look of shock on Swoops's face would be funny. But now? It's the least funny thing he can imagine. "You going over there isn't going to help anything." Swoops tries to cut him off, but Tyler holds up a hand. "No. It's not. Just get through the presser as fast as you can and get changed. I'll take care of the rest." In his mind, he's already planning what he'll have to do. It's obvious that Swoops isn't going to settle for anything less than going to the hospital, but Parser's already being carried out on a stretcher. He needs to find out what hospital, and get a car.

Twenty minutes later, Tyler meets Swoops in a car he rented thirteen minutes ago, between skipping the presser, showering at the speed of light, and charming information out of one of the EMTs. Swoops races down the steps, long legs taking them two at a time, and stops in front of Tyler's open window. 

Tyler looks out at him. "Get in, asshole."

It's a miracle they don't get pulled over on the way to the hospital. Tyler never drives less than ten miles over the speed limit, which is aided by the fact that it's late at night and no one else is on the roads. They screech into the parking lot, and Swoops is halfway to the entrance before Tyler even manages to lock the car doors.

By the time Tyler catches up, Swoops is pretty close to yelling at the receptionist, who probably doesn't deserve it. Tyler pushes him to one side. "Sorry." He smiles at the receptionist, and hopes it doesn't look as strained as it feels. "Kent Parson? We're teammates."

The receptionist eyes him, then directs them to the second floor. The second the room number is out of her mouth, Swoops is off like a shot towards the stairs. Tyler follows, nodding over his shoulder at the receptionist. 

"Don't run," she says, but they're already gone.

Swoops stops short at the top of the stairwell, and Tyler almost runs into his back before he catches himself. He peers around Swoops's shoulder. The second floor is a hub of activity, with doctors and nurses everywhere, talking loudly, and surrounding a gurney being rolled towards an operating room. Tyler's breath sticks in his throat for a second, until he gets a good look at the person on the gurney. It's a teenage girl, looking thin and pale. Not Parser.

Well, that's something, at least.

One of the nurses approaches them with a frazzled look about her, her dark hair springing loose from her bun. "Can I help you?"

Tyler steps in front of Swoops. "Hi. We're looking for Kent Parson?"

She glances back at the gurney and sighs, then turns back to them. "Are you family?"

"Teammates."

"Okay, go ahead and find the room, but I don't think you're going to be able to get in yet." One of the other nurses is gesturing wildly for her. "Coming!"

"What does that --" She's gone before Tyler can finish the question. Instead, he sighs and grabs Swoops by the arm. "Let's go." He has to practically drag Swoops along behind him. Dude is suddenly oddly reluctant to be here.

The door to Parser's room is shut when they get there. Tyler knocks on the door, and a second later, a different nurse opens it and slips out. She looks equally as frazzled as the first one, which isn't very reassuring. She checks her clipboard. 

"Who are you?" she asks.

For the third time, Tyler sighs and says, "Teammates."

She doesn't look very impressed. "Can I see some identification, please?"

Tyler digs his driver’s license out from his pocket and hands it to her, and elbows Swoops. He does the same. The nurse spends what seems like an eternity scrutinizing them, then hands them back, apparently satisfied. 

"He got his bell rung pretty good," she says. "Middling concussion, but he was out for more than a minute, so that could be indicative of complications. We're keeping him overnight, just in case of internal bleeding."

"What does that mean?" Swoops snaps. He doesn't look like he's handling this very well.

The nurse looks at him. "Internal bleeding can lead to hemorrhaging, which we don't like to see."

"How bad can that get?"

She hesitates, then glances at Tyler. "It's not all that common, but it can be fatal."

A cold hand grabs Tyler's insides and squeezes tight. Looking at Swoops, it's clear that he's having a similar reaction. His face has gone dead white and it kind of looks like he's been struck by lightning. He takes a deep breath and seems to recover, then starts towards the door.

The nurse moves to block him. "I'm sorry, sir, you can't go in."

The expression on his face is thunderous. "Excuse me?"

"The patient isn't stabilized yet, you can't go in --"

"Let me in --" Swoops's voice is rising in volume and hysteria.

"I can't do that --"

"Let me see him --" They're shouting now, and people are starting to stare. The nurse, all five feet of her bristling with righteous anger, gets right in Swoops's face.

"Sir, if you don't calm down, I will call security --"

Tyler steps in. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, no one needs to do that." He grabs Swoops by the arm and moves him out of the way, stepping into his place. "I'm sorry. We're just very worried, and no one's given us any information, and it's been a very stressful experience." The nurse eyes him. "Look, we'll just go have a seat over there-" he waves a hand at the line of chairs at the end of the hall, "-and we'll just wait. No worries. You have a job to do, and I get that."

She nods. "I'll let you know when we have any more information," she says, and goes back into the room. Tyler smiles until the door closes behind her, then turns to Swoops. "What the fuck, man, in what universe does yelling at the _nurse_ help us?" He doesn't get a response, so he drags Swoops over to the chairs and sits down. After a second, Swoops sits down heavily and looks at the floor. His hands are clenched, his knuckles white. 

"Fuck," he says. Tyler knows how he feels. "Fuck."

Now it's awkward. Because before, Tyler was running on adrenaline and the fact that he was the most capable adult in the situation, since Swoops clearly wasn't going to be handling the practicalities of getting here. But now there's nothing he can physically do, and he's becoming increasingly aware of the fact while he can rent a car and talk to receptionists and nurses, there's not a lot he can do about Swoops's feelings. He can't even imagine what the guy must be going through. To have your best friend in the hospital, with no idea what's going on or even if he's still alive has to be about the worst thing he can think of.

"Do you-" he hesitates, "do you want me to call someone for you?"

Swoops shakes his head. He's not looking at Tyler.

Tyler leans back in his chair and thinks. What would Mom Olive do? He's no therapist, but growing up with her, something must have sunk in, right? 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Swoops closes his eyes and rests his forehead in his hands. "I'm going to kill him."

Tyler just waits.

"He's such a fucking idiot. Who does that? The guy is like, tiny, and he decides to check a dude twice his size, illegally, and lands himself in the fucking hospital. I don't even know if his parents know what's going on. I have no way to contact them."

In this moment, Tyler understands Swoops. He's the guy who's going to give of himself to everyone around him before thinking of himself, and never ask for anything in return. Even now, he's trying to blame himself for not being able to contact Parser's parents like that should be his first priority. 

"How are you doing?" Tyler asks.

He lets out a long breath and says, haltingly, "He's all I've got. And I don't even know if he's alive."

Tyler doesn't even know what he could say to that. It's starting to hit him that he might be responsible for this. He told Parser about the d-man. Now look where they are.

"I'm sorry."

Swoops looks up. "What?" His eyes are rimmed with red. 

Tyler's shoulders tense. "I- Well, I started this. I caused it."

"Tyler. Jesus." Swoops looks at the ceiling, as if he's asking some deity for strength. "You saw a possible problem, and you told your captain about it. That's what you're supposed to do. Kent is a grown-ass man, and he made his own decision. It was a stupid-ass decision, but he made it." He pauses. "Don't make other people's mistakes your problem."

"But --"

Swoops cuts him off, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You are better than that." He stands. "I'm going to get a coffee."

It's another two hours before the nurse comes back. Swoops has a pile of napkins which he's systematically tearing into strips, and Tyler has played approximately 600 games of Snake on his phone. She approaches them purposefully and for a second, she doesn't say anything. She just stands there and waits until she has their attention.

"He's stabilized." Swoops's shoulders sag, relieved. "You can go ahead and go in. One at a time."

Swoops stands up, and the nurse pats his shoulder. "Go get him, tiger." Then she's gone again, this time headed towards the stairs. 

Swoops cracks his neck. "I'm gonna fucking kill him," he mutters, then looks back at Tyler. "Take a walk, French Fry."

Tyler goes. He doesn't want to be anywhere near here when they start yelling. Because they will start yelling. It's too deeply ingrained in their personalities.

On his way down to the cafeteria, he checks his phone and nearly drops it when he sees how many notifications he has. Goldie has been texting him nonstop for pretty much the last hour, with an increasing usage of exclamation points, the word "fuck" and capital letters. As he's looking at the screen, it lights up with an incoming call from Goldie.

Tyler accepts the call and raises the phone to his ear. "Yeah?"

"What the literal fuck, Frye," Goldie says. "It's been an hour. Answer your fucking phone." There's a pause, then Goldie says, fainter, "Rookie's alive," presumably to the team. Tyler can just make out a ragged cheer.

"Sorry," Tyler says. He bites his lip.

"You have to actually tell someone before you just up and vanish, okay," Goldie continues. "Where the hell are you, anyway? And where's Swoops?"

He looks around. "I'm at the hospital. Swoops is here, well, not where I am, but he's in the building. I think." He's instantly aware that this isn't a very comforting thing to be hearing. "Parser's stable," he says, and hopes it makes up for the other stuff.

"Cap's out of the woods," Goldie says, fainter again. This time the cheer is louder, and Tyler smiles. When he hears Goldie again, he's laughing. "Jeff punch anybody yet?"

"He almost fought a nurse," Tyler says. "I don't think it would have gone very well for him." He looks up, and a nurse is making a beeline towards him, expression stormy. "Look, I have to go," he says, and hangs up.

"No phones, please," the nurse says.

"Sorry."

After half an hour hiding in the cafeteria, Tyler figures it's safe to start heading back to the room. Either they've made up or the short nurse has made good on her threat to kick Swoops out. Either option means he's not likely to get yelled at. 

He hesitates at the end of the hall. The nurse from before is standing outside the door to Parser's room, leaning against the doorframe. But she beckons him over, and he really has no choice but to obey.

"I'm Emily," she says. 

He hunches his shoulders. "Tyler."

Emily jerks her chin at the door. "How long have they been --"

"Terrifyingly codependent?" It comes out before he can stop it.

She makes a face. "If that's what we're calling it."

Tyler shrugs. "Long as I've known them."

Emily nods. "Oh, the guy you came in with said he was going to stay overnight, but that you should take the car back."

"Really?" He shrugs. "I'll just pop in for a second and say goodbye, then." He makes to reach for the doorknob, but Emily puts her hand on it faster than he can.

"Sorry, can't advise that," she says, too quickly. "Patient needs sleep, and he was sleeping already. You'll see them tomorrow."

Befuddled, but unwilling to press the issue, Tyler nods and heads back towards the exit. He drives back to the team's hotel by himself, and tries not to worry too much. It's fine. Swoops is probably fine after talking to Parser.

Goldie is waiting for him by the door, although Tyler has no fucking clue how he knew to be there, if he did at all. Somehow, the image of Goldie standing outside and just waiting, with no guarantee of when Tyler'd actually be back is really goddamn funny.

"Where's Swoops?" Goldie asks, looking up from his phone. 

"Staying over at the hospital," Tyler says. "Man, that guy is a mother hen."

He laughs. "Yeah, dude, no shit. If I were Parser I'd be going nuts. But Swoops is a good dude. Not his fault he's overprotective." Goldie claps a hand on Tyler's shoulder and puts his phone away. "You did good, rookie."

Tyler rolls his eyes and allows himself to be led inside. "Yeah, thanks."

"But seriously," Goldie says. "Go the fuck to sleep. It's nearly two in the morning."

He groans. "What time do we check out again?"

Goldie just laughs.

***

The next morning, he's sitting in the hotel's dining room with the rest of the team, poking mechanically at the biscuits and gravy that's already half congealed on his plate when the door swings open. He looks up, and Parser's in the doorway, a truly impressive bruise on his jaw and a sheepish look on his wan face. 

"Hey, fuckers," he says, and the response is instantaneous. The entire team is talking and shouting at once, the commotion deafening. Swoops appears behind him, slouching against the doorframe with one hand in his pocket. Someone grabs a chair, and Parser sits down heavily in it. "Heard you managed to win a game without me." Swoops smirks.

"You are so full of shit," Goldie says, wonderingly. "Why do we even keep you around?"

Parser looks over at Swoops and grins, lopsided. "It's because I'm pretty, right?"

He pulls a face. "You're not that pretty, Parser."

"Yeah, well, I know a lot of ladies who'd disagree --" Goldie starts, but is immediately drowned out by booing and cries of "Give it up, Goldammer!" He rolls his eyes and stands. "Don't you guys have a bus to get on?" There's a groan in unison, and the guys start to disperse. 

Tyler picks up his plate and heads for the dish bin. By the time he's finished scraping the sticky mess into the trash, the room is empty except for him, Goldie, and Swoops and Parser.

Goldie pokes Parser in the shoulder. "One of these days, you're gonna have to settle down, man."

Parser laughs. "The day I settle down with a girl is the day I start to die, Goldammer. Mark my words." 

Goldie shakes his head and heads for the door. "You're too much, dude," he calls over his shoulder, a grin on his face.

Swoops moves from his position at the door. "Let's get you on the bus, asshole." He starts to help Parser up, then looks at Tyler. "Thanks for the lift, kid," he says.

As Parser stands awkwardly, the collar of his shirt dips low, and for a second, Tyler can just see a bruise on his collarbone. He frowns, trying to place how that could have happened. The nurse had only mentioned his head, nothing about the rest of him. And the placement and shape, it almost looks like --

Tyler shakes his head. Where could his captain even get a hickey on a roadie, one night of which he spent on a bus, the other in the hospital?

His gaze flicks to Swoops, and the grip he's got on Parser's shoulder. It's protective. Almost possessive.

Something in Tyler's brain clicks, the last gear in the machine slotting into place, and the wheels begin to turn.

_"I don't like your tone," Goldie says, faux-angry. "There's a lot of strategy in setting up Kent 'The Pickiest Man Alive' Parson with a chick."_

The way Parser evades every effort to set him up --

_Parser and Swoops have been with the Aces since their draft. Makes sense that they'd be close._

How inseparable they are, the fact that they live in the same apartment --

_Tyler sees Parser bump Swoops's shoulder and grin. Swoops raises his eyebrows and does the same, but Parser goes flying into the bushes. Through the window of his car, Tyler can hear them both laughing._

The easy way they touch --

_The nurse moves to block Swoops. "I'm sorry, sir, you can't go in."_

_The expression on his face is thunderous. "Excuse me?"_

_"The patient isn't stabilized yet, you can't go in --"_

_"Let me in --" Swoops's voice is rising in volume and hysteria._

_"I can't do that --"_

_"Let me see him --"_

Their insane chemistry on the ice, the way Swoops reacted when he saw Parser go down --

_He lets out a long breath and says, haltingly, "He's all I've got. And I don't even know if he's alive."_

The way Parser looks at Swoops, like he's the sea and Parser's desperate to drown --

_Parser looks over at Swoops and grins, lopsided. "It's because I'm pretty, right?"_

Parser never lies. But he doesn't always tell the whole truth, either.

Tyler's frozen to the spot, eyes wide. He looks at Parser, and in that moment, sees the truth of it all staring him in the face. It had been there the whole time, if he'd only been keen enough to see through the half-lies and evasions, the hints that had been right in front of his face.

Parser smiles, half feral and all wicked. Still looking directly into Tyler's eyes, he tilts his head to one side and raises a finger to his lips. 

"You --" Tyler starts to say, but Parser's already through the door, Swoops trailing in his wake, a leaf caught in a hurricane. Swoops looks back over his shoulder at Tyler and winks. The last thing Tyler sees before the door swings shut behind them is Swoops's hand on Parser's shoulder and Parser's head thrown back as he laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I realize that this is not really specific to any of the prompts I was given, but I'm going to defend myself by saying that one of them included the phrase "general Kent/Swoops", so that's what we're calling this. I'm sorry. I really did mean to be more close to one of your prompts, but Tyler just kind of got in my head and kept asking questions, and that's kind of what this turned into.
> 
> Also, I was like, hella freaked when I saw who I'd be writing for, because I enjoy your work a lot, and it was a very intimidating time in my life.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In the Crossfire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251879) by [mirkandmidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirkandmidnight/pseuds/mirkandmidnight)




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